A WINDOW THAT LIGHTS
When night falls, from the darkness of my room
I look through the unlit window
A lighted window on the other side of the shore.
It shines like burnt gold, like polished copper.
Who watches over there behind that window?
Who is diligent and embroiders and weaves and makes dresses
From muslin? Who casts busts
Like a swallow with its mouth, beak and fragile fingers?
Who there, perhaps in the terminal phase of illness
Remembers vivid scenes and sees everything as it
Should have been – only before the grave door do you realize
The truth and everything is crystal clear as at the zenith
When the sun\'s rays fall vertically and illuminate the crown of your head.
And I fall asleep and wake up in the darkness of the night
And that window still reflects the sun.
That is certainly not a window, but a face that shines.
That is not a window, but a soul that darkness
Cannot extinguish.